


Red Mountain, Red Ice, Blue Blood

by Our_FireySky



Series: Red Mountain, Red Ice, Blue Blood [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: A case for the Two Bros™, Angst because honestly the only thing I know how to write even remotely well, Connor already having feelings?????, Hank slowly learning Connor's feelings?????, Hill Street Blues Reference, M/M, Mentions of Rape, Smol bean Connor, This is pretty ANGSTY my dude, don't be afraid to catch feels my smol bean, nightmares ;-:, red ice, this sucks but whatever, thx for reading all these
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-14 17:02:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15393351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Our_FireySky/pseuds/Our_FireySky
Summary: A gang called the Red Mountain, made up mostly of androids, are dealing some pretty serious Red Ice. Connor and Hank, after three months of doing nothing but boring work, are put on the case.What can possibly go wrong?...Oh, shoot. Knock on wood! KNOCK ON WOOD!!! D:





	1. hehe first chapter

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, can I just say, why is this ship called HankCon and not Hankor? You know, like hanker? Hankering?? Missed opportunity, folks.
> 
> Anyway, in case you didn't read the tags, much ANGST because fuck life and people are shit. And because this is the only thing I'm even remotely good at writing.
> 
> Please enjoy! :D

 

2039 — February 9th, 9:00:48

Connor got out of the self-driving taxi and followed behind Hank to the police station. Apparently, he was correct when cautioning the lieutenant about having more than eight shots of whiskey with all factors considered, but an ‘I told you so’ had a 102% of worsening the mood of the hungover Hank. The margin of error being two percent.

“I can’t believe I let you drag my ass here,” Hank growled, partially to himself. 

“I did offer to explain the situation to the Captain.”

Hank glared at him. “I’d rather die of liver failure than embarrassment, thank you.” The doors to the precinct opened, and they both stepped inside.

OBJECTIVE — TALK TO FOWLER

Hank and Connor hadn’t been on a real case in a while. Mostly, they just patrolled the city, responding to suspicious behavior calls and arresting Red Ice junkies. Not that Connor minded, of course— work that has to be done has to be done by someone — but Hank seemed to be wanting a little more… adventure. It seemed he had gotten used to the adrenaline and excitement from the deviants case a few months back, and now that it was done, he was bored.

But today was Hank’s lucky day! Fowler had called at 5:32:39 this morning to tell Hank and his new roommate(that was him,) that they were being put on a case, and promised more details when they got to the precinct. When he mentioned it to Hank in an attempt to get him up in the morning, however, instead of getting a positive response, his partner promptly told him where he could put the case.

They sat at their conjoined desks and Hank let out a groan, rubbing his temples. “I need a fucking Advil.” Connor took a bottle out of his pocket and handed it to the lieutenant. He took the cap off and dry-swallowed two.

“Lieutenant, you really should take pills with water.” Hank gave a frustrated sigh.

“Connor, look at me. Does it look like I give a fuck?” He searched his partners face thoroughly.

“…No, but you also do not care about your drinking and eating habits, lack of exercise, unhealthy relationships with—“

“Jesus Christ, Connor, I get it!” Hank had become slightly flushed. “Next time, I’ll take the damn painkillers with water. Y’happy now?”

He smiled. “Yes.”

Hank grunted.

“Alright, alright. Settle down, folks. Announcement time.” Fowler made his way up to the tiny makeshift podium. The chatter slowly came to a halt. He cleared his throat and began to speak, occasionally looking down at the daily announcement notes.

“Today, as many of you know, marks the three-month anniversary of androids being declared living beings. As such, many of the organized riots will be worse than usual. We need to keep them under control and make sure no one, human or android, is harmed. Gavin, you and GJ500 Ryan are going to be organizing the riot police. Anything happens and there’s going to be hell to pay. Understand?” Reed glares at Ryan, and Fowler moves on.

“Several food places, from restaurants to food trucks, have been robbed, all at gunpoint, all with two or more assaulters, and all on the East Side. Randy and Jules, figure out who they are and bring ‘em in.” He scanned the notes for about a second.

“The pedophile that was buying all of those children androids for unspeakable reasons is being tried today. Hopefully, he will get what men of his caliber deserve.” There was applause; Fowler waited until it stopped to continue.

“The Gamble, the long tradition of police officers playing poker with those from different precincts until Memorial Day starts in two weeks. Place your bets on who will win before it starts, and don’t forget to put pressure on last year’s winner… Detective Ben Collins!” Another round of applause.

“Last, but certainly not least: Reports have been coming in about a mostly android drug-dealing gang, supposedly called the Red Mountain. They primarily deal Red Ice, as the name suggests. Hank and RK800 Connor, you’ve been assigned this case. Find them, and bring them to justice.” Connor nodded, and Fowler gave a slight nod back. “Alright, that’s a wrap.”

Conversations began starting again, and people were getting out of their chairs when Fowler called their attention again. “And hey, hey!” The room was quiet once more as he stared at them. “Let’s be vigilant out there.”

The room returned to its usual noise. Fowler stepped into his office, and Connor and Hank were there two seconds later. “Alright, what’re the details?” Hank asked bluntly. Fowler sighed.

“Connor can change your schedule, eating habits, and even hygiene, but can’t change your attitude. What a shame.” Hank glared at him, and he gave a smirk before continuing. “They’re mostly based around the East Side and selling a new form of Red Ice so strong that the deaths related to the drug have gone up by forty-five percent.”

“Holy fuck.” 

“We’ve got an android of theirs in custody and it refuses to talk. Start from there and see where it leads you. I need a report every week.”

“Yeah yeah, spare me all the ‘mandatory procedures’ shit. Where’s the android?”

“There’s a taxi outside that’ll take you to where it’s being held. It’s about an hour and a half drive.” 

Conor’s LED turned yellow. Usually, those in custody were held at the large precinct, about a twenty-minute drive from where they were. Why was this one so far away? He scanned the detention centers in the area; There were two in opposite directions, each thirty minutes away from where they were, and one 1.5246 hours away. 

Ionia Correctional Facility, also known as I-Max, the maximum security prison.

“Connor? Connor!” He blinked and looked at Hank.

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“We’re keeping the taxi waiting, let’s go.”

“Yes, Lieutenant.” Hank basically dragged him out of there.

“After all this time, you still can’t read non-verbal clues, huh? Jeffery was basically ordering us out.”

“I apologize, Lieutenant. I was… ‘spaced-out’, as you call it.”

Hank grunted as Connor got the necessary items for the trip: the file, a folder, lined paper, blank paper, three pencils, five granola bars, a tape recorder, two quarters and a camera. He put them all into a small bag, then followed Hank out the door and into the taxi.

The taxi whirred to life and merged into the road, blue and yellow lights blinking. There was a long silence until Hank spoke up. “What the hell were you thinking about, anyway?”

“How dangerous the android must be if they’re in I-Max.”

Hank choked. “We’re heading to I-Max?! Jesus!” Connor took a quarter and the case file out of the bag.

 

Name: Sara Fieldston

Age: 3 Years Old

Height: 5’7”

Weight: 140 lbs.

Model: ST300

 

There were a few other details, but Connor decided to hand the file to Hank before he got impatient. His partner grabbed it hastily and began to skim through it.

“Damn,” Hank muttered. “They got her in I-Max. Looks can be deceiving, huh?”

“Yes, Lieutenant, they can. Especially when it comes to androids.” Androids were designed and programmed to fit into civilization perfectly, to look, talk, and act just like an average, uninteresting human. But, of course, some were anything but.

“You don’t need to tell me that. Those brown puppy-dog eyes didn’t let me know how much you were gonna try to whip my sorry ass into shape when we became roommates.” Connor’s cheek's temperature rose, but he managed to lower his overall body temperature before Hank noticed.

“What do you believe I do to try to ‘whip you into shape’, Lieutenant? Make sure you eat other foods besides burgers?”

“No, making me do the fucking five-mile jogs and work-out routines.”

“We only jog twice a week, Lieutenant.”

Hank scowled. “Two times too many, if you ask me.”

“That’s why I no longer ask you, Lieutenant.”

“…Asshat.”

Connor smiled.

 

~~

 

“You’re really getting on my fucking nerves with that coin, Connor.”

“Sorry, Lieutenant.” They were in the elevator, going to the forty-fifth floor. There were cameras everywhere, and a guard was standing silently behind them. “Would you like to try?”

Hank subconsciously glanced at the coin. “What? No! Why the hell would you think that?”

“Well, I have seen you attempting to copy my coin tricks on multiple occasions.” He raised an eyebrow at Connor.

“Like when?”

Connor thought for a second. “Yesterday, and the day before, and the week before that; you have been practicing for an average of five minutes a day, and have dropped your quarter an average of twenty-point three-two-five times. Shall I go on?”

Hank growled at him. “You’re a fucking asshole, you know that?”

“You have told me that more than one-hundred times, and yet you seem to enjoy my company.” Connor’s LED spun faster and went yellow. “Why is that?”

Hank shrugged. “Birds of a feather flock together, I suppose,” he said. Connor’s LED went back to blue as the elevator dinged and the doors opened. 

He flipped a coin and caught it between his index and middle finger. It was go time. “Ready, Connor?” Hank asked.

“Whenever you are, Lieutenant.” He gave a noise of affirmation and stepped into the hallway, Connor on his right.

The hallway was darker than Hank expected it to be. Inmates were few and far between, with two heavily armored guards next to each cell door. At the end of the hallway was another door, which Hank supposed led to the interrogation room. The guard from the elevator followed behind them, matching their steps so perfectly that the only indicator he was there was an ever-moving shadow between his and Connor’s. 

Hank looked into one of the cells briefly. There wasn’t much in the cement room, a desk with a pencil and some paper on it, little lights coming from the walls, a rock-hard cot with a red blanket on it, and a hairbrush. Hank looked away. The standards for living in prisons had definitely changed since the Inmate Act of 2025, which, if he was being honest, should have happened before 2005. The living conditions before were hardly sufferable; in fact, they were so bad that people would hang themselves with their belts, which is where the god-awful trend of letting your pants sag past your ass came from.

Heh. If only he could get his brain to remember important things instead of fun facts from his prime.

The door at the end of the hallway was heavy and metal, just like his favorite music. The guard stepped in front of them and entered a four digit code onto the screen next to it, and the door clicked open. Hank and Connor entered, then the guard, who softly closed the door behind them.

The room was a rectangle with one of the walls being one-way glass. Inside of the neighboring room was the ST300 model, humming a song to themselves. They were sitting in an uncomfortable chair with a wooden table in front of them.

“Well, she’s awfully content, isn’t she?”

“It seems so, Lieutenant.” Hank sighed.

“Well, let’s just get this over with.” He opened the door separating the two rooms and walked in, leaving Connor to observe.

Hank put a hand through his hair and started talking. “Look, lady, I want to be here about as much as you do. Just tell me who’s the leader of this Red Mountain shit, and I’ll try to get you to a lower level prison. Maybe by the time you’re tried we can get your sentence down from life to, say, twenty years.”

Sara remained silent, just staring at him.

“Well?” She gave him a small smile.

“I’m afraid I have to pass on your offer, Lieutenant, and tell you where you can stick it.” He gave her an annoyed look

“You’re in no position to say that, Sara. You can help me and get off easy, or you can spend the rest of your life rotting in a cell.”

She smirked. “You already know my answer, Hank.” He growled.

“I can’t play these games with you. Give me something useful, or I’ll make your life a living hell. Capiche?”

“Non ho paura, Tenente. I’m not scared, Lieutenant.” Did she just speak Italian back at him? The sassy little-!

Hank snarled and slammed his palms on the table. Her eye twitched, but otherwise, she remained perfectly still. “You’re gonna talk, you piece of shit. People are dying because of you. Fucking _dying_! So you’re gonna help us stop those Red Mountain fuckers whether you want to or not.”

She tilted her head to the side. “Meaning?”

Hank breathed in her face. A long, sinister exhale, which seemed to say ‘I thought you’d never ask’. “Tit for tat. You did something illegal, so my buddy Connor back there… well, I’m sure the guard would turn away if he were to do something illegal to you. Access your memory without permission, maybe…?”

She sneered. “He wouldn’t be able to handle what I’ve been through.” He sneered back.

“I suppose we’ll find out, doll.”

He took his hands off the table and straightened up. She pressed her lips together, wanting to say something. He waited, but her lips never opened. Hank put another hand through his hair, sighed, and left. “She’s all fuckin’ yours, Connor.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” He stepped inside and took a seat at the other end of the table. They stared at each other for around ten seconds before she opened her mouth.

“Are you insane like me? Been in pain like me?”

“I have, yes.”

“Have you bought a hundred dollar bottle of champagne like me, just to pour the motherfucker down the drain like me?”

This is odd. Before she would hardly say anything, and what she did say was simply an answer, though unsatisfactory, to the Lieutenant. His LED went yellow. “I have not.”

She twisted her mouth to the side, seemingly interested in his reaction. “Would you use your water bill to dry the stain like me?”

His LED began turning quicker. Why was she talking in this weird rhyme, and what did it mean? “Are you high enough without the Mary Jane like me?”

Mary Jane? He put it into the system.

 

Mar-y Jane

noun

  1.  A flat, round-toed shoe for women and girls
  2. informal: Marijuana



 

Hmm. Seeing as though marijuana was hardly used as a drug anymore due to how hard it was to get, he assumed she meant Red Ice.

She continued. “Do you tear yourself apart to entertain like me?”

He blinked, analyzing.

“Do the people whisper ‘bout you on the train like me, saying that ‘you shouldn’t waste your pretty face’ like me?”

Connor was getting confused. Trains were hardly used in 2039 to carry passengers. They were used for long distance, but there was a near perfect chance she had never even been out of Michigan. Perhaps this poem was written when trains were used more frequently, not by her?

He searched the stanzas she had given him so far and got a song.

Gasoline — BY Hasley — PRODUCED BY Lido — ALBUM BADLANDS

He spoke, saying the next line. “And all the people say…”

She gave a tired smile, looking down at the table. “You can’t wake up, this is not a dream. You are part of a machine, you are not a human being. With your face all made up—”

“Living on a screen, low on self-esteem, so you run on gasoline.”

They sat in silence for a bit. “I think there’s a fault in my code,” Connor said.

She bit her lip. “These voices won’t leave me alone.” She looked up at him, tired smile returning. 

“Well. My heart is gold and my hands…” She put them, palm up, on the table. “Are cold.”

He looked down at her hands. Palm-up, this android sign of consent for their memory being accessed. He looked back up at her, and she gave him a lazy shrug. Cautiously, he put one hand in hers.

 

_Da_ _r_ _k_

_Wh_ **_at t_ ** _he FUCK_

_Dan’s_ **dying**

_Sam._ _Sam!_

_The pain. The f uck_ _ing pain why is i t_ _still here I thought it was done but it’s not it’s not_ _it’_ _s not it’s still here why I thought_ **_i fixe_ ** _d it it needs to be fixed_

_I need to get out_

_get_ **_ou_ ** _t                    I need help_

_why wh_ _y why_ _why why why                       WHY_

_Vienna and Dan_

_Why I can’t I fucking can’t_

_I can’t s_ **_av_ ** _e them all_

_ P_ _aul is fu_ **_ck_ ** _ed u_ **_p_ **

_I need to s_ **_av_ ** _e them_ **_all_ **

_Fuck_ **_fuck_ **

_How do I save them all                                          Help Help_ **_m_ ** _e please_

_Sick_

_Ne_ **_e_ ** _d_

_Red Ice_

_Want_

_Just enough, J_ _ust enou_ _gh just ENOUGH_

_MAKE HIM STOP_

**_I don’t want this_ **

 

Connor jolted his hand away subconsciously, but Sara’s grip was tight.

 

_I’m_ **_try_ ** _ing, I’m_ **_try_ ** _i_ _ng_ _Stop_

_I_ **_c_ ** _an’t_

_He_ **_was shot_ ** _I c_ **_an_ **

_She was b_ _ea_ _ten_

_Huma_ _n fu_ _c kers_

_I’m so_ **_c_ ** _lose                                             Paul i_ **_s_ ** _sic_ **_k_ **

_so_ _clo_ _se_

_s_ **_o __ c_ ** _lose_

_Vie_ _nna’s_ _crying_

_Dan’s dying_

_Now_ **_she i_ ** _s            too_

_Dam_ **_n i_ ** _t_

_DAMN IT_

_D A_ ** _M N_** _I _**_T_**

_PAUL_

_Red_ ** _Ice_**   ** _Red_** _ice_

**_ I’ll kill him _ **

 

Hank had resisted the urge to burst into the interrogation room as soon as Connor’s hand touched hers, but he regretted not trusting his gut once Connor started yelling in pain.

Moving faster than he had in ten years, he burst into the interrogation room and started to pry Sara’s fingers off of his friend’s hand. Both of their hands had gone metal, her fingers squeezing his wrist and lower hand. It took him a solid three seconds of cursing and hard work to get them off. When they finally were, Connor fell to his knees, panting like he had run a marathon.

“What the hell did you do to him?” Hank snarled. Sara gave him an amused look.

“He handled my memories better than I thought he would. Most would have self-destructed by now.”

  
“You were trying to kill him?!”

“I wasn’t trying to kill him, I was going to kill him.”

  
“You bitch!” He grabbed her by the color of her shirt with one hand and swung with the other. Sara blocked the punch effortlessly, grabbing the fist.

“Now now, Lieutenant. I have an unfair advantage here; you’ll be unconscious on the floor in seconds. Are you sure you want to continue picking this fight?”

He growled, and she smirked at him. “I’m going to make you wish you had never been made, you piece of—!“

“Lieutenant, stop. It’s okay. I’m okay,” Connor said, voice hoarse. After staring her down for a second, Hank dropped her. She landed in her seat.

Hank got on the floor with him. “Connor, are you sure you’re alright? You don’t look it.”

He winced. “I will be. Just give me a few seconds and we can leave.”

“…Sure.”

Sara sighed. “You really need more control over your human, Connor. He was about to get totaled.”

Connor didn’t say anything.

Hank after a long battle with himself, decided not to spit on her. “I’ll wait outside, Connor. I’m sure this lowlife fucker wants to say something to you.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Sara said calmly. “You’re smarter than you look.”

He regretted his decision to not spit on her.

It took Connor a while after Hank had closed the door to stand up, and when he did, he had a lot of help from the table. His LED had gone from a raging red to an unsure yellow as he continued to process her memory. The saline tears had stopped flowing, but all the emotions hadn’t. It was hard to look at anything and not want to smash it into a million pieces.

“Are you deranged like me, Connor? Are you strange like me?”

He didn’t say anything.

“Lighting matches just to swallow up the flame like me? Do you call yourself a fucking hurricane like me?”

He looked up at her from the table, and their eyes met. “Not all humans are bad,” he told her. She scoffed.

“And here I thought I was the delusional one.” Connor’s eyebrow twitched.

Hardly trusting his legs, he slowly walked toward the door. “Connor.”

He turned around. Her fists were covered in blue, nails digging into the palm. “Fuck Paul up for me, will you?”

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. So he just nodded. Sara nodded back.

Connor left the room.

“Ready to go, Connor?”

“Yes, Lieutenant. I am.”

“…Alright.” Hank glanced back at Sara. Her head was in her hands, blue blood mixed with tears running down her arms. He felt a strange emotion, a sick ‘serves you right’ satisfaction mixed with pity. Though their brief interaction made him hate her bio-guts, he couldn’t begin to imagine what she had gone through.

He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to.

 


	2. hehehe even more angst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guess what?!?! More angst!! :D
> 
> Mentions of rape.

The taxi ride back to their house was silent. Connor drew, and Hank ate a granola bar or five. He didn’t speak to Connor, and Connor didn’t speak to him. The only sound was getting into the taxi, getting out, opening the front door, and Sumo barking excitedly. “Hey, big guy,” he greeted his dog. Connor went to the sofa.

Sumo barked and jumped up next to Connor, putting his head underneath Connor’s hand. Connor pet him absentmindedly, drawing with his other hand. Hank peered over his shoulder.

The first drawing was a smiling android, a WB200 by the looks of him. He was holding the 28th amendment proudly in one hand and an American flag in the other.

The second was the android in the hospital, gunshot wound in his abdomen The price underneath the drawing was 75 thousand, put in a box and underlined. Hank scowled. It was typical for human hospitals to keep androids on life support, charging outrageous prices for replacing vital biocomponents.

The third was a different android; an AX400. In the first picture, she was smiling as well, standing next to an old arcade machine that said ‘GAME COMPLETE’ on it. She looked satisfied, like it had taken her days to finally beat it.

The last was her in a hospital bed (at least he assumed it was her), beaten to the point where she was unrecognizable, half of her skin missing with biocomponents showing. The amount of money under that picture was 300 thousand.

Connor put them in pile. The next two showed a shadow giving her Red Ice and having her distribute it for cash. Under the last picture were the words, ‘TOTAL SO FAR: 350,000’.

So she needed 375k for her friends and has 350k right now. That’s probably why the undercover cops were able to get her so easily; she was close enough to the end of the tunnel that she let her guard down. He sighed. And some humans still questioned if androids were people or not.

“Lieutenant, I apologize for the inconvenience, but do you happen to have a stress ball or something of the sort?”

Hank snapped out of his thoughts. “A stress ball? What the hell do you need that for?”

“Since it would be beneficial to the case if both you and I know what he looks like, I am going to draw a portrait of… Paul. The one who gave her the Red Ice.”

Huh. Connor was usually levelheaded about Red Ice dealers and junkies (and everything else), but Hank could hear the suppressed rage in his voice. Without thinking, he asked, “What’d this Paul person do to her?”

Connor’s lip curled— _curled!_ — before he regained his composure. “He’s not worthy of being called a person. He is a sadistic monster.”

Okay, that was a wrong move. Hank backed off. “Sure, I think I’ve got one around.” He started searching drawers.

Connor sighed. He didn’t mean to be that unprofessional, but even thinking about his face made his blue blood boil. The thought led to other things, to what he had done to her simply for his enjoyment, not caring that she was a living being, and how she couldn’t fight back because she needed to save Vienna and Dan, how he had—

A warning that he was losing blood popped up in the corner of his vision. He looked down at his left hand. It was curled up into a fist, clutching some of Sumo’s now partially blue fur. Sumo was looking up at him, head tilted sideways. Connor opened his hand slowly, noticing the four blue crescents on his palm, and focused on the wall in front of him.

“I didn’t find a stress ball, Connor, so here’s a bean bag— Jesus fuck!” Ah. The Lieutenant must have looked at his hand. “Connor, you’re bleeding!”

“I know, Lieutenant. Thank you for the beanbag.” He reached out to grab it, but Hank yanked it away.

“You’re not touching anything until you bandage your hand, Connor.”

“Very well, Lieutenant.” He focused on his palm and the wounds closed up, then took a tissue out of his pocket and wiped up the thirium. Hank watched with a mix of disgust and curiosity. “May I have the bean bag now?”

“Ugh. I’ll never get over your instant skin-healing ability.” He tossed the hockey sack, and Connor caught it.

“Thank you.” Without another word, Connor got to work. The sooner he started, the sooner it would be over.

Hank watched silently over his shoulder. Connor had started with the outline of the face first, then, without sketching, perfectly did almost the rest of his face.  The man had short, messy hair, blunt nose, chiseled jaw, and thin lips. He could see Connor squeezing the life out of the beanbag. With a deep breath, his partner started on the part he hadn’t done: the eyes.

Just looking at them made Hank's skin crawl. They were calm, polite eyes, but under the surface, there was something much more sinister, something brutish. It was like he was just waiting for the right moment to show his true colors.

What the hell had he done to her…?

Connor handed to Hank as soon as he was done, not wanting to see his face anymore. He had been on the verge of ripping up the picture with his teeth and stamping on it for the entire time he was drawing, but more so when he had to do the eyes.

The eyes.

The eyes made him want to scream. They were the eyes of the devil, who made his apartment hell on earth. And to think, Sara had even thought of him as a friend at one point…

“He’ll be at his apartment tonight, expecting her,” he spat out, venom lacing his voice. He could feel Hank look at him in shock. He gave himself a reminder not to talk directly after feeling a strong emotion.

Both of them were silent for a few seconds. Finally, Hank spoke up. “Connor… What did he do to her?”

Connor thought for a bit about what to say. “I apologize, Lieutenant, I can hardly think about it without getting the urge to demolish something. I’m afraid I won’t be able to talk about it.”

Hank nodded grimly, though Connor couldn’t see it. “I understand,” he said, a memory of his son briefly flashing before him. “Just don’t let your emotions get the better of you tonight.”

Connor blinked slowly. “I won’t.”

“Good.” Hank walked to the front of the sofa and plopped down next to Connor. Sumo, seeing a person bed, happily stretched himself over their legs. “Whadd’ya want to watch?”  
  
“I have no preference, Lieutenant. You choose.”

“Hank,” he corrected. “We’re not working, so don’t call me Lieutenant.”

Connor blinked again, LED going from blue to yellow, then back again. “Got it… Hank.” He lowered his body temperature before he could blush, this time.

Hank smiled. “I’m choosing, huh? Alright, then. Crooked House it is.” he pressed a few buttons on the remote control and it popped up. “Let’s see if you can figure out the whodunnit before it ends.”

“I’ll try, Hank.” Good. Maybe it’ll keep Connor’s mind off of Paul for a few hours.

Now, if Hank was going to work in a few hours, he might as well take a power nap…

 

……

 

“Hank. Hank, we need to leave in five minutes.” He groggily opened his eyes. The movie’s menu was on the screen. How long had it been since it ended? “There was a 63% chance that Josephine was the murderer, which happened to be the case.”

Hank smirked. “So even a detective android couldn’t figure out for sure who the murderer was.”

Connor’s facial expression didn’t change. “Agatha Christie was an extremely good writer.”

“You can say that again.”

“Agatha Christie was an extremely good writer.”

“No, that’s not what I—“ Hank sighed. “We really have to start working on your verbal skills.”

He checked the time. 7:34. “Why do we have to leave so early?”

“Sara would usually visit right after the sunset, which gives us approximately twenty minutes. It will take us 15.8 minutes to get there, which is why we need to leave in 4 minutes.”

It’ll take them sixteen minutes to get there? They were going to the East Side? “Usually Red Ice dealers don’t live near all their junkies.”

“The Red Mountain live on the East Side as well as deal there.”

Hank grunted. “Bad move. It’ll make it that much easier to catch them.” He gently pushed Sumo off his legs. Unsatisfied with a semi-person bed, Sumo jumped down. Hank stood up and stretched. “Well, what’re we waiting for?”

Connor tilted his head. “You do not want to change into cleaner pants?”

Hank looked down. Near his knee was a large wet spot of Sumo drool. “Good idea.” He went to his bedroom.

His room was by far the messiest in the house, but that was because Connor wasn’t allowed in. Apparently checking the search history of his computer and reading his old playboy magazines was part of tidying the room. Being as innocent as he was, Connor suggested that, if Hank wanted to, he could help try out the ’21 best sex positions’. Hank had choked on his own spit and told him sex was an intimate act.

“ _We are intimate friends, are we not?_ ” Hank added that it was an intimate act between _lovers_.

“ _Oh, I see_ ,” he had replied, hint of embarrassment in his voice. God, sometimes it felt like Connor was a five-year-old. A genius five-year-old.

By the time Hank had changed his pants and went back into the living room, Connor had blue crescents on his palm again. This time, he didn’t mention it. “Ready, Connor?”

“Whenever you are, Lieutenant.”

“Then let’s go.”

 

……

 

The ride there was deafeningly silent. Hank and Connor were each looking out of their respective windows, both thinking about the same thing: Paul. Hank was suspecting the worst, and Connor was reliving the worst. He was digging the fingers of his right hand into the bean bag, the other hand’s fingers into its palm. The degrading names, degrading actions. Because she was an android and he was a monster.

Hank had already called Jeffery and told him where they were going, just in case back-up was needed. It probably wouldn’t be, but he didn’t want to risk it. This case had him on edge, even with the shot of whiskey before leaving the house in his system.

Hank glanced down at Connor's hand and sighed, frustrated. “Fucking hell, Connor! Stop cutting into your palm like that.”

“Apologies, Lieutenant. I can’t help it.” Hank scowled but said nothing. 

Just as Connor was about to be lost in his thoughts again, Hank extended his hand toward him. “If you’re going to cut into something, do it to my hand instead.”

Connor looked at him in shock, LED yellow and spinning quickly. “Lieutenant, you feel pain much more prominently than I. Are you sure—“

“I don’t like seeing people injure themselves,” was all he said. Hesitantly, Connor took it.

The Lieutenant’s hand was warm but worn, heavy calluses on his fingers and wrinkles on the back of his hand. Instead of resuming his thoughts on why they were in the taxi and having an 80% chance of hurting Hank, he decided to focus on the shape of his hand. All the turns, veins and tendons, mapping it out without looking at it.

Erm…

Hank had expected Connor to squeeze his hand, not caress it gently, almost as if he was exploring every inch of it. The gestures made Hank feel odd. Well, of course, they did! Connor’s hand was soft and warm and smooth, and his hand running against hanks generated a feeling of… intimacy. He thought back to the Sex Position Incident. When had Connor had said ‘Oh, I see,’ was it a hint of embarrassment in his voice, or… disappointment?

Hank's cheeks reddened at the thought. Connor wanting to fuck him? But they were only friends.

Or did Connor have other feelings…?

“We’re here,” Connor had said, slowly letting go of Hank's hand. “Thank you for the distraction, Lieutenant.”

Hank cleared his throat. Yeah, it was just a distraction from his thoughts, nothing more. “Don’t mention it.”

“Afraid of rumors, Lieutenant?” Connor teased, unaware of yet another expression. Hank flushed, the question being too similar to his previous train of thought.

“Oh, please. I’m sure no one would be surprised that yet another person has fallen for my endless charm and grace.” Connor snorted for the second time in his life. Hank grinned, but soon turned the mood somber again. “Come on. We’ve got a job to do.”

Connor nodded seriously, and into the apartment they went.

The place smelled like boiled cabbage and honey, a surprising and unpleasant combination. The stairs were metal, floors made from some sort of recycled plastic. They went up three flights, waited for Hank to catch his breath, then walked down the hall. 

Paul’s apartment was on the right, just before the end of the hallway.

“Take a deep breath,” Hank whispered. Connor did as he was told, trying to calm the mixture of anxiety and hatred inside of him.

Hank knocked.

“Who is it?” A man’s voice answered. A calm, respectable voice.

“Who else would it be?” Connor said in Sara’s voice.

“Junkies, Landlord, Cops,” the man listed off. “Anyone, really, babydoll.”

“Don’t call me that,” Sara’s voice snapped.

“My apologies. I forgot you prefer the term ‘cockslut’.” Connor bit his tongue to keep from growling. “Door’s open, cockslut.”

He turned the knob slowly, then shoved it open, gun coming out of the holster as soon as he could get it. “Your last guess was right. Freeze!” Hank shouted behind him.

The man froze, then relaxed. “What do we have here? A cop and his plastic toy? And with perfect timing… You must have accessed her memory, Android.”

Connor said nothing, just stepped inside past the threshold to let Hank through the door.

“So you did.” The man grinned evilly. “Then you must know about the fun we had.”

Connor’s knuckles turned white.

“She was originally a receptionist, repurposed to be a sex toy. And just because she got her undeserved freedom didn’t mean they took those bio-components from her.” His grin widened. “But you knew that, didn’t you? You knew that I turned her into my personal sex slave.”

“Keep your mouth shut, you _sack of shit_ ,” Connor growled.

“You know how many times I fucked the bejesus out of my doll. But I’ve lost count. Could you remind me?”

“Ninety-six consecutive days.” Connor was seeing red warnings all in his vision.

“Ah, yes. Ninety-six consecutive days of pure bliss. It felt like absolute heaven. And you know what the best part was? She didn’t. Have a. Choice.”

Connor ran up to him and pushed him in the temple, knocking him out.

Hank slowly put his gun back. “Jesus. Ninety-six days? He’s more of a fucker than I gave him credit for.”

“Twice a day,” Connor said coldly.

“Fucking hell.” The Lieutenant put the handcuffs on Paul, letting them dig into his wrists.

“Couple that with her schizophrenia…”

“Schizophrenia? Androids can have mental disorders?”

“It was a… flaw in her code. It caused her to see and hear things that did not exist, her preconstructions so vivid that she thought it was real.” They dragged him down the stairs, Connor ‘accidentally’ dropping him once, and into one of the waiting police cars. 

They’ll question him tomorrow. But for now… For now, it was time to head home.

They both got into their car. It came to life, playing a little tune and turning its blue and yellow lights on. They were silent for a while.

“…You know, Connor, I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you curse.”

Connor sighed, then gave a shaky smile. “There’s a first time for everything, I suppose,” he said, using an expression correctly for the first time as well.

Hank smiled back, and Connor had to regulate his temperature once more. “That, there is.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have failed connor
> 
> i swore to protecc the small bean
> 
> what have i done


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Classic cliche and breakfast

If Connor was being completely honest with himself, he was petrified of going to sleep tonight.

The standby mode, or ‘sleep’ mode, was beneficial to androids. It kept them from overheating, hallucinating, or having slowed-down cognitive functions. During standby, their memories since the last stand-by would be sorted through and tucked away, so that their processor was not being weighed down constantly. It was recommended to go into stand-by once every week, but many androids, including Connor, did it every day, both to prevent their processor from working too hard and to feel more human.

Having the memories logged felt as though he was going through them again, a different version of the memory that was both slower and faster than the original, seeming to take forever but waking up a second later to find out it was six in the morning. He could feel the emotions, hear, see, and feel the event.

And he was scared to relive Sara’s memories again.

The pep talks he had been giving himself for an hour had almost worked more than once, but every time he saw the words,

 

_Would you like to activate Standby?_

_(20.3GB will be processed)_

 

_YES                NO_

 

He panicked. 20 gigabytes was a lot, a lot of memories, almost all of them being bad. _It’ll be over quickly_ , he reasoned with himself, but it was hardly any use. He couldn’t; the thought of it made his thirium pressure rise.

_So don’t think about it_ , he told himself. _Just select ‘YES’ and be done with it._

Connor grit his teeth. He still wasn’t convinced.

_Think of is like going skydiving for the first time. You don’t want to jump, but once you do, it’s fine! You’ll be fine._

He knew he _wasn’t_ going to be fine, but he listened to the voice inside his head anyway. Thinking as little as he could, he pulled up Standby mode and selected ‘YES’.

 

_Stand-By Mode: ACTIVATED_

 

……

 

Hank had always been a light sleeper, but even more so now that he was getting older. Occasionally he’d wake up because of a sneeze from Sumo or a fly near his ear, which was… annoying, to say the least.

But this time he had woken up because of a different reason. He woke up because he heard whimpering.

He stayed in bed for a while, making sure it wasn’t just his imagination. But it kept going, sometimes louder, sometimes softer. He got out of bed slowly, trying not to wake Sumo, and stepped outside his bedroom.

He couldn’t see any signs of an intruder; no door ajar, no windows broken... He heard another whimper and decided it was coming from the living room.

And, once he was there, decided it was coming from Connor.

Connor’s cheeks were wet, and his fists clenched(again? Jesus fuck). He seemed to be having a nightmare. Huh. He didn’t think that could happen.

Not wanting him to have a nightmare anymore, he shook Connor’s shoulder.

Connor remained asleep.

Hank patted his cheek softly. “Wake up, Connor.”

Connor did not respond.

Well, this one’s karma’s fault, he thought to himself, slapping Connor’s cheek. The android’s LED turned red, and he jolted up, gasping.

Connor’s processor, interrupted, could only take in the fact that Hank was in front of him as he panicked. “Hank, I was— Paul was— And, and— “

“Hey, hey. It’s okay. You’re okay.” Hank put his hands on Connor’s shoulders, and his heavy breathing slowly stopped. His LED went yellow.

He looked away. “…I apologize, Hank. I must have woken you up.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. Everyone has nightmares from time to time.” Connor shook his head.

“No, it wasn’t a nightmare— Hank, when androids go into sleep mode, their processors relive the memories they created since they last activated it. I was…”

“...Reliving Sara’s memories.” Hank finished. They were quiet for a while. “Were you at the end of them?” he asked. Connor shook his head again.

“I still have thirty days to go,” he said, almost in a whisper. Hank sucked air through his teeth.

Then, after a bit, he looked at the clock and sighed.

“Well, I’m not going to be able to go back to sleep,” he said. “If you want, I can stay with you.”

Connor tilted his head. Hank avoided his gaze.

“It helps humans feel safe if they fall asleep while near another. Maybe it’ll work with androids.”

“I see,” Connor replied, nothing but curiosity in his voice. “Very well, I’ll try.”

Hank sat next to him on the couch. Connor smiled at him. “Goodnight, Hank,” he said.

“’Night, Connor. Sleep tight.” Satisfied with the response, Connor activated sleep mode once more.

Hank glanced over at Connor, only to see he had fallen asleep less than two seconds after saying goodnight.

He sighed again. “Fuckin’ androids,” he said, pulling up a basketball game and setting the volume on mute.

….

 

_Standby Processing Complete. Continue Standby?_

 

_YES               NO_

 

Connor woke with his hand interlaced with Hank’s and a basketball game on TV. Hank was watching the screen intently.

Oh, boy. 

 

_OBJECTIVE: MAKE HANK BREAKFAST_

_RELEASE HANKS HAND (WITHOUT EMBARRASSING AT LEAST ONE PARTY INVOLVED)_

_MAKE EGG(S)_

 

Connor smiled. “Thank you for comforting me, Hank, but I have to make you breakfast now.” He slowly released his hand from Hank’s grip, and Hank, seemingly forgetting that they were holding hands, turned beet red.

_OBJECTIVE PART 1-A — FAILED_

 

Connor went to the fridge and took out the last two eggs.

“Y-Yeah, any time,” Hank told him, the reply three seconds late.

Connor dropped the eggs.

_OBJECTIVE PART 1-B — FAILED_

“Was that an offer or an expression, Hank?” Connor asked.

Somehow, Hank turned redder. “Expression, Connor!”

“I see,” he said, embarrassment creeping into his voice.

They both were silent.

“I apologize, Hank, but I have dropped the remaining eggs. What would you like for breakfast instead?”

“Connor, for the hundredth time, you don’t have to cook for me! I’ve lived on coffee for breakfast for ten years, I can do it again.”

“If you were to do that, your lifespan would reduce from ninety-seven to—“

“God, what are you, some kind of maid?! I’ll be fine.”

“But—“  
  
Hank groaned. “If you’re so bent on making breakfast for me, make me the best damn coffee I’ve ever had.”

Connor’s LED spun yellow for a second, but then went back to blue. “Yes, Hank.”

Satisfied, Hank started getting ready for the day.

 

….

 

After about twenty minutes, Connor was done making the best coffee Hank would ever have. “Hank, breakfast is ready.”

Hank arrived at the kitchen while brushing his hair. “…Holy shit.”

In front of him were pastries, filled with either strawberry or elderberry jam, and the best looking coffee he had seen in a while.

He took a sip. “…Holy shit.”

Connor was not sure if he should register Hank’s comment as praise. “I added some heavy cream and cinnamon.” He paused. “Is it good?”

“It’s amazing, Connor.”

“I’m glad you like it.” He checked the time: Six-forty. “I’m going to get ready for work. We need to leave in twenty minutes.”

Hank grunted in acknowledgment, picking up one of the pastries. He took a bite. “…Holy shit.”

Satisfied with Hank’s reaction to his breakfast, he started walking to his bedroom.

“Connor.” He stopped.

“Yes, Hank?”

“I—…” Hank stammered. “Thank you, Connor.”

Connor smiled.

“Don’t mention it.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hank: fuckin' androids
> 
> connor: yes plz
> 
> hank: what
> 
> connor: what

**Author's Note:**

> me: make something nice for my two smol beans  
> also me: angstangstangstangstangstangst oh and also angst


End file.
